‘My name is Sarn-Duil, by the way. What is yours?’
‘Eln-Tika.’
‘Where do work?’ Sarn-Duil asked casually as the cards were being dealt for a new game.
‘On Bro-Bak's farm. With Tenni-Vill and Ci-Nam and the others.’
‘How come I've never seen you before?’
‘I've only just arrived. This is the first time I've been in this place.’
‘Arrived? From where?’
‘The outside. I'm a hunter.’
Sarn-Duil stared incredulously at Eln-Tika. ‘A hunter? And you can play cards? I thought you just killed and ate and mated.’
The remark was insulting, but Eln-Tika realised it came from simple ignorance; there was no insult intended. She answered, ‘You are wrong. We talk and think and observe, too. But we never played cards, no. That I learnt tonight.’
The incredulity grew. ‘You learnt cards tonight?’ And you have beaten me? You must be a prodigious learner - or very lucky.’
‘It isn’t luck,’ Eln-Tika said quietly.
‘Very well. We shall see. Another game is about to start.’
This time Eln-Tika folded again and spent the time following the emotions of the other players as they bluffed each other.
‘That was a wise move on your part,’ Sarn-Duil said at the end of it. ‘You must have had a very poor hand.’
Eln-Tika did not answer. She was looking at her new hand - a very good one. It occurred to her for the first time that the others could perhaps read her own emotions. She had no more control over her facial expression than anyone else. But it was too late. The others had realised that she had a good hand and folded in their turn.
The next hand she kept her face totally immobile, sensed the emotions of the other players, and quite deliberately, pretending hesitation and uncertainty, destroyed them all. By now the table had gathered a small crowd, and at the end of the game, while Eln-Tika was gathering in her winnings, there was a great release of tension.
Ci-Nam and Tenni-Vill were signalling to Eln-Tika. She caught the signs and said to the others, ‘Thank you for the game. I have to go now.’
‘But you've got our money!’ one of the Ennari shouted. ‘We want to win it back!’
‘Let her go,’ Sarn-Duil said. ‘She won it fairly, and anyway, who’s to know we would get it back. On the evidence of this performance we could end up penniless.’
‘But it's a cheat,’ the angry Ennari shouted, jumping to his feet.
Into the sudden silence and the tension Ma-Sek quietly stepped. The sheriff had appeared out of nowhere, a quiet unregarded figure until that moment.
‘There's nothing for you, Ma-Sek,’ Sarn-Duil said calmly. ‘Gorl-Fro is angry, but then he often is. We lost fairly, and that's that.’
‘I'm glad you see it that way, Sarn-Duil.’
Sarn-Duil dismissed the suggestion. ‘In a way I didn’t mind losing. It was a privilege. I shan’t see card playing like that again.’
Ma-Sek gazed at Sarn-Duil wondering if he really meant what he said, then decided that he did. Amazing. A magnanimous Ennari. He gestured to the fulminating Gorl-Fro to sit down and indicated to Eln-Tika that she could leave.
In complete silence Eln-Tika scooped the money off the table and carefully placed it in her pouch as Wath-Moll and Ma-Sek stood on either side of her. The three returned to their friends, who left in a still unbroken silence. Ma-Sek watched them go, thinking carefully. It had all the signs of a set-up, but he was sure there had been no cheating. He turned back to the now even noisier room feeling rather baffled.
*
Bro-Bak, when he heard the story, first laughed, then, when he was told of Ma-Sek's involvement, was angry. He knew Ma-Sek would discover the truth eventually, and thus the Ennaris would too learn how they had lost. And when they did find out, Ma-Sek would be angry for having the peace disturbed for the sake of a trick, and the Ennaris would simply be angry. He foresaw trouble.
He was tempted to make his people give the money back, but he knew that would not work. The Ennaris had lost face, and there was nothing that could be done about that. And then he laughed again. It was a good trick, and he wished he had been there.
Chapter 8
The two hunters rode to the fence the following morning. They carried all their hunting and camping equipment plus food for four days. They were alone. Eln-Tika and Wath-Moll felt released. It was good to feel free, to know they could do what they wanted for a few days, not to worry about meeting others, to be subjected to yet more strangeness. And for Eln-Tika there was the blessed return of silence, no more crowding thoughts, just the comforting presence of Wath-Moll who was riding beside her, watchful as ever, ready for anything. He gazed briefly upwards at a flying bird, then, following its flight, saw Eln-Tika looking at him. He grinned and Eln-Tika knew he felt exactly as she did. They were free.
They reached the ditch after a morning's gentle riding. They rode slowly along it, looking for flaws in its construction, places where the slashers could cross, until they came to one of the crossing points. They set up camp a little way back from the ditch, and out of sight. Eln-Tika looked with affection at the two little shelters and was reminded of the octet and the happy days berry-picking and the evenings discussing the stars.
They spent the rest of the day idly. They sat together in the shade of a fern watching and listening. At one point a small grey and orange bird pecked its way round the campsite, and they argued mildly if they had seen one before. At no time did Eln-Tika feel any sense of danger and they saw nothing larger than a ground lizard.
In the evening they watched the stars appear against a darkening sky. There was no wind and hardly a sound. Occasionally, from far off they heard the honk of a male flathead, and once the screech of a night bird. It was quiet, still, and peaceful. They took turns at the night watch, but Eln-Tika knew there would be no danger that night.
The following day was exactly the same. They lazed around the campsite, eating their dried meat when they felt like it, drinking their water when they felt thirsty, plundering their small store of berries, which they had been given by Ci-Nam. Eln-Tika had been embarrassed by the small gift. She could not remember being given a present before. She assumed Ci-Nam was trying to pay her for her efforts at the card game where they had all won a great deal of money, but he had not said so. In fact he had not said anything very much. He had merely pressed the small bag into her hands and wished them luck.
In the morning, while they were chewing their meat, Eln-Tika knew the peace was over.
‘Danger,’ she said urgently. ‘Slashers, lots of them.’
Wath-Moll was already strapping on his bow and quivers.
‘Where?’ he asked.
‘To the right, by the ditch.’
They moved quietly towards the ditch. They had already decided on their strategy. They had decided not to ride to the ditch as they feared they would be too conspicuous on their blenjis, and though they were more vulnerable on foot, they could hardly believe the slashers posed a threat when they were on the other side of the ditch.
They reached the edge of the ditch and cautiously peered through the undergrowth along the ditch to the right. A long arrow shot away, they could see a party of slashers in the ditch. They were manoeuvring quite large branches with their small hands. Puzzling narrow thongs of skin were being paid out by another party of slashers on the far bank into the tangle in the ditch. What was going on? Then it was suddenly obvious what they were doing. They were filling the ditch with branches so that they could, with their light weight, move across on top of the branches and thus over the ditch. It was also suddenly obvious that the slashers in the ditch were very vulnerable. They had not reached the stage where they could get across, and they would find it difficult to get back in a hurry. The hunters, on realising this, ran back to their blenjis, mounted and rode towards the slashers as fast as they could.
The slashers on the far side saw them racing towards them and began calli
ng. Wath-Moll and Eln-Tika rode to the edge of the ditch and began firing. The slashers in the ditch were frantically trying to escape, but the arrows were remorseless. Within moments twenty slashers lay dead. The hunters then turned their attention to those slashers on the far side who were unaccountably still there staring at the carnage in the ditch. When the arrows began killing them, they bounded off and disappeared rapidly into the scrub.
The two hunters returned to their camp and packed it away. They needed to return to the farm; they had found the answer to the question. Temporarily they had stopped the slashers. But they would be back, and they needed some way of stopping them for ever.
As they rode back, they discussed the implications of the slashers' method of crossing the ditch.
‘Now we know they're intelligent,’ Wath-Moll said. ‘We've always thought they were, but now we know.’
‘Not only have they worked out a way of crossing the ditch, but they are also cunning enough to clear the ditch afterwards.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘We never saw any part of the ditch filled with branches, did we? They must have cleared them away when they left. Of course!’ Eln-Tika had had a sudden revelation. ‘That's what the thongs were for. Each branch must have a thong attached to it, so that when they left they could pull up the branches and hide them for the next time. That is clever. And worrying.’
‘How so? Twenty of them are dead. A few more attacks like that and there won’t be any left.’
‘They'll keep coming, Wath-Moll. They always do. We need to find a way of keeping them out permanently. We will have to think of a way.’
They rode to where they had been told Tenni-Vill would be working and found a gang of chanits rounding up a group of flatheads. Their news was greeted with stunned awe.
‘You've killed twenty slashers?’ Tenni-Vill asked.
‘About that, yes,’ Wath-Moll replied. ‘But the immediate problem is to clear that ditch of the branches, find all the other branches on the far side that the slashers were going to use and destroy them. They will get more, of course, but the thongs will be harder to get. They must make them from the skins of their prey, I suppose,’ he mused.
‘This gets worse,’ Tenni-Vill muttered. ‘Are you telling me that slashers are that intelligent? That they can make thongs to pull out branches and then hide them?’
‘Yes, we are.’
Tenni-Vill called to her herdsmen to gather round. Briefly she told them of their new task. The party rode with speed to the ditch, where they divided. Half would stay on this side where they would lower themselves into the ditch using their thong lariats, while the other half would ride to the nearest crossing point, cross to the far side, ride until they were opposite the others, find the other branches and drop them in the ditch where they would be removed by the other party. Tenni-Vill and the hunters were in the party on the outside, where the threat was greatest.
Once they arrived, Tenni-Vill immediately realised the implications. Slashers really were intelligent, and thus incredibly dangerous. She also noted the arrows in the dead bodies. Almost every one was through the heart. She suddenly wished she had been there to watch the hunters at their work. She could picture the rapid-fire action, the rain of arrows into the enemy. She was suddenly glad these two were here. They were honest, hard-working, and supremely competent. And she now knew, good company too. She grinned at the two hunters who were watching intently for any slashers.
The work was soon completed. Once the branches were cleared from the ditch and its surroundings, the party on the outside jumped down into the ditch where they were pulled out by those on the inside. But Eln-Tika and Wath-Moll delayed for a few moments. They systematically removed the arrows from the dead slashers and returned them to their scabbards.
‘Arrows are valuable,’ Wath-Moll said in answer to Tenni-Vill's quizzical gaze. ‘If you can recover them then it makes sense to do so. We only have to re-tip them with poison and we can reuse them.’
‘Poison?’ Tenni-Vill asked in alarm. ‘You use poisoned arrows?’
‘Yes. The arrows with the black quills are tipped with black poison. With those we kill our enemies such as slashers and speed-dragons. The others with the coloured quills in the other scabbard are tipped with white poison. We use those for killing our food. Obviously the poison does not affect us.’
‘Naturally,’ Tenni-Vill said faintly. This was ruthlessness and professionalism taken to the limits. But then if your life depended on killing your enemies you made sure they got dead. Her admiration was growing further.
They left the dead slashers where they were. They would soon be picked clean by the vultures. The group rode back to the farm, excited and apprehensive. Killing twenty slashers was an achievement, but what had they started? Would the slashers go away after their defeat, or would they continue their attacks? No-one knew, not even Eln-Tika or Wath-Moll; this was something beyond their experience. As nomadic hunters, they would meet slashers and fight, but then they would move on. Here they could not move on. The farm was fixed, and if it was within the territory of a band of slashers, it would be attacked until the slashers were destroyed or they moved away. It was possible that they realised they were up against an enemy that could destroy them. They were very intelligent, they knew that now. Perhaps they also possessed good sense as well, and leave to search for easier prey. Eln-Tika voiced her thoughts, then came to a pessimistic conclusion.
‘There's something vengeful about slashers. They seem to go out of their way to kill. Common sense says they will go away. We saw none as we came into the town, so they have plenty of places to go without any fear of competition. But I think they will stay. They will try to kill our flatheads, and us if they can, just for the sake of killing.’
‘Thanks, Eln-Tika,’ Tenni-Vill said drily. ‘That's just what we want to hear. Bro-Bak too, I expect.’
Eln-Tika was about to protest that she was only speaking her opinion when she realised that Tenni-Vill was making fun. This was another new experience. She was so used to deference, if not awe, that it was strange to meet someone who was not in awe of her at all. Well, not quite. She was aware that Tenni-Vill was in awe of her telepathy, but it did not affect her attitude towards her. Eln-Tika found she rather liked it. Tenni-Vill was refreshing.
They rode into the farm where they met Bro-Bak almost immediately. His reaction to the news was first elation then thoughtfulness. The ingenuity of the slashers was disquieting. He immediately announced that there would be a general discussion after the evening meal. Everybody was to attend, except those on essential duties. He would have no problems keeping everyone in the eating room, thought Tenni-Vill. They all wanted to know what to do.
After an animated meal, when those who were not in the action subjected those who were to a torrent of questions, they moved the tables to one side and arranged the chairs in a semicircle by the fire. Bro-Bak, in a chair on his own that faced the others, controlled the discussion.
Wath-Moll and Eln-Tika, who were used to group discussions, found it interesting to compare their loosely structured, informal evening discussions to the one conducted by Bro-Bak. First, it was much more tightly controlled, and more authoritarian. Then Eln-Tika realised why: they were in Bro-Bak's pay. It seemed reasonable, therefore, that he should expect deference. But not subservience. The discussion was, after all, to share ideas.
The two hunters sensed unease among their companions to the point of actual fear. Their commonplace problem of fighting slashers was far from commonplace to the herdsmen. To them, slashers were an unknown, and thus had a menace beyond actuality. Wath-Moll's clear, straightforward mind saw the solution to the problem without difficulty. The herdsmen needed to be trained as hunters. He and Eln-Tika would be the trainers. All that was required was bows, arrows, poison, and plenty of time. The herdsmen ought to make reasonable hunters. They could ride, they were fit, and they were motivated. He inserted his ideas into the discussion.
They were
received with some dubiety by those who had seen the carnage in the ditch. The awesome results of archery of that order of skill seemed far beyond their own capabilities.
Wath-Moll was exasperated by their diffidence. At one point he cried, ‘We are all chanits, we are all the same. What we can do, you can do.’
Eln-Tika sensed the growing confidence at this remark. After a short discussion, it was decided that training would begin the following morning.
Chapter 9
The training was brutally intensive. Wath-Moll and Eln-Tika made the others repeat the action that took the arrow from the scabbard, fitted it to the string, aimed and released it in one flowing, continuous movement again and again, beginning slowly then increasing the speed. Eln-Tika was a natural teacher with her telepathy and her patience. The aim of her pupils was poor, but for the moment that was not important. They were concentrating on the flow and the speed. They trained through the day, barely stopping.
The days passed in quiet repetition. One group would patrol the ditch while another trained and a third watched over the flatheads. They were working far harder than normal, but nobody complained. They knew that it was essential if they were to survive. There were no encounters with slashers, but nobody was sure that they had gone.
When the tenth day came there was a surprising lack of enthusiasm for an evening in the town. The herdsmen were beginning to master the art of bowmanship and were actually enjoying firing arrows at targets that they were now starting to hit. They actually resented not practising in the evening. But Eln-Tika had had enough of marksmanship for a while, and wanted to go into town - not to the saloon, but to the silent-house. Wath-Moll elected to stay behind, partly because Bro-Bak now insisted one of them was always around for security reasons, and partly because he rather enjoyed the lessons.
Only a small group rode into town that evening, and soon Eln-Tika was on her own as the others entered the saloon. She rode along the dusty track to the silent-house and the quiet of the central courtyard. A silent, who was crossing the yard, greeted her. She had not met him before, but it was obvious that he knew all about her.
The First Riders Page 7